Lessons in downsizing.

October 05, 2007

a Cuban sandwich from Sullivan St. Bakery

If you're going to have bread, at least make sure it's good bread. And for me, if I'm going to have bread, it's going to be in the form of a sandwich. I'm not a "give me bread and butter" on a deserted island kind of girl. I'm a "give me bread and assorted deli meats and cheeses" kind of girl. Not to mention condiments. Condiments are my favorite food group.

I trekked all the way to Sullivan Street Bakery, thinking "I will not get the Cuban; I will not get the Cuban." Not because I felt like one and was resisting temptation, but because I didn't feel like one and wanted to try listening to my body for once, rather than my head, which is smart enough to know that... c'mon, the Cuban sandwich is going to be the best one. (House-made roasted pork, prosciutto di Parma, pickles, Gruyere, and three types of condiments--aioli, mustard, and mayo?)

I knew I had probably missed out on their buzzed about ramp sandwich, but thought they'd have something similar to that in a seasonal vein. But, to not drag out the suspense, I took one look at what was on display and decided to wait 10 minutes for the Cuban. In truth, all the breads at the bakery look gorgeous and all the sandwiches, even the very pretty PMB: pancetta, mango, and basil, look meager. That's because they're on a bread called a flauto which does indeed resemble a flute, being probably no wider than an inch and a half. It's rather effete and European, and a lumberjack would take it for a breadstick. I decided I better go for the heartiest.

It was fantastic. I took one bite and I understood why so many cops were milling about, pointing at foccacia studded with cherry tomatoes and concord grapes. They do things right over there. The bread was so fresh, it would have been a shame to press it into a real Cuban. The crust wasn't too hard and didn't get in the way of spectacular ingredients, which were portioned in single layers. Half the time I get a sandwich, I have to pull out some meat from the middle because it's too much for one bite. This was just right. The sandwich didn't need to be overstuffed because there wasn't too much bread. It seems such a simple thing, but it made a world of difference. I wouldn't hesitate in trying any one of their sandwiches now. They may look anemic but, judging by the Cuban, they're full of flavor with wonderful, thoughtful ingredients.

Then something strange happened. I stopped eating halfway. I was full. I couldn't believe it. It wasn't even a two-hander really--it was a swizzle stick. I could have pressed on with no hardship on my part, but I think because I knew it'd be pretty good later, it was easy to put it aside. Also, they had bagged it to go, so it only took a second to wrap it up and move on out.

I had the other half many hours later and while the bread was not so fresh, it may have been even more enjoyable because I ate it in bed, lying down, which is something I like to do. Another plus for the one-handed, effete sandwich. You can read and eat at the same time. Jim Lahey, of Sullivan Street Bakery--he, who also invented the no-knead bread, is kind of a genius.

Sullivan St. Bakery is located at 533 W. 47th Street, between 10th and 11th Avenues. Sandwiches are $6.